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Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Shit I Hate: Purdue University

It's well-documented that I despise Purdue, and most of what I have to say about that school was stated in no uncertain terms last year. But with the Old Oaken Bucket game scheduled for Saturday at Noon EST (how a game between two 3-8 teams got an ESPN2 slot baffles me, but I'll take it), it is imperative that I renew my hatred before God and this congregation.

Every year about this time, my hatred of Purdue sneaks up on me and then unleashes itself the week before the Bucket game. And when it does show up, it's all-encompassing. You don't want to be around me when I'm watching that game, certainly not with any children who aren't deaf. Let's be clear about one thing. I. Fucking. Hate. Purdue. From its lethargic, overfed co-eds to its disturbing fascination with oversized percussion instruments, there is literally nothing to like about that school.

This year's Bucket game is (unfortunately for everyone involved) in West Lafayette, a rotting carcass of a city where it has been statistically proven that the sun has never shone. Seriously, it's overcast there all the time, which probably has a lot to do with the layer of smog that constantly hangs over West Lafayette, comprised of industrial effluence, manure (human and animal), and the souls of the damned. I guess God doesn't want to scare the aliens away.

And those of you who have been to Ross-Ade Stadium know that it is nothing more than a glorified high school stadium, with rickety bleachers from which you watch guys in piss-yellow jerseys ask each other "you heard that new Brad Paisley song?" It doesn't even have permanent lights. Do they not want to attract flies? I would think that would be impossible, given the number of hog farms on campus. What's that? Those are sororities?! I guess I shouldn't be surprised, since hot chicks generally don't go for aggies or dudes who are way into making go-karts.

And God forbid you're around when Purdue gets a first down. The crowd counts to four. Yep, four. Four = first down. Four also equals the number of attractive women that most of these people have ever seen in person. I hate to dwell on this, but Purdue is the kind of school where Leatherface has a legitimate shot of winning Homecoming Queen.

This will be Purdue head coach Joe Tiller's last game. Good riddance to that walrus-looking motherfucker and his 75 pass attempts a game. Leave it to Purdue to ride their winningest coach out on a rail, but then again they do have a fucking train for a mascot, so it probably made sense to their AD. Retirement will, however, give Tiller more time to devote to his television campaign against "die-ah-be-tis." But seriously, even more annoying than the "1, 2, 3, 4" cheer is the "boiler up" cheer that Tiller accidentally brought with him from Wyoming, where he coached before arriving in hell eleven years ago. "But that makes no sense, GMYH. Wyoming's mascot is the Cowboy." Quite astute, fair reader. Wyoming's cheer was (and might still be) "cowboy up." This makes sense, as the phrase "cowboy up" originated in the bull-riding and rodeo world as a motivational phrase meaning "fight through adversity no matter how tough the odds," such as when a cowboy was thrown from a bull and then gored within an inch of his life. "Cowboy up" = "get back up and show the next bull whose boss." At Wyoming games, therefore, the phrase "cowboy up" is symbolic of being ready to go into battle with a beast and keeping at it until said beast is tamed, if not brutally slaughtered by circus clowns. The geniuses at Purdue changed it to "boiler up," apparently to indicate that, if need be, they are ready to hoist a boiler to a height higher than it is currently hoisted. Grrrr! Up, I say, goes that boiler! Take that, opponent!

I've said it before and I'll say it again: Purdue offers nothing of value to society. I know what you're thinking: "But GMYH, they make boilers at Purdue! It says so in their name." Despite their nickname implying otherwise, they do not actually make boilers at Purdue. In fact, the only three things they make at Purdue are: stupid cheers, the least-successful overall athletic program in the Big Ten, and farts. Did you know that less than four percent of Purdue grads go on to continue their education at accredited four-year colleges? Admittedly, their taxidermy certificate program is among the fifteen best in central Tippecanoe County. And one thing they do teach very well at Purdue is that there is more than one way to skin a cat . . . or a possum . . . or a squirrel . . . or anything else one hits with a 1989 Ford Ranger. I think that's actually the title of a 400-level animal agribusiness class.

Despite all of the school's shortcomings, Purdue fans continue to talk shit (I mean that figuratively, although they undoubtedly literally talk about fecal matter, given its documented prevalence in and around their campus and their vaunted horticulture program). Their school literally smells like excrement, they have (in their entire history) two NCAA championships across all sports, they haven't been to a Final Four (in men's basketball) since the year Reagan was first elected, it's the only Big Ten public school not listed among the "Public Ivies," their women are ugly, their campus is ugly, their old basketball coach looks like Mama Fratelli, their new basketball coach looks like Sloth, and their school's initials are P.U. Yet they still find a way to talk smack about another state school that is literally heaven on Earth. This, my friends, is why I hate Purdue and why, once again, I ask you to hate Purdue too, even if only for three hours Saturday afternoon.